Two Years Later
by Brinny2point0
Summary: Two years after their break-up, Castiel invites Dean to an interview to spill some truths. Based on this beautiful little video: /watch?v CfdlIMlPmuA&ab channel GlamourMagazine


**Two Years Later**

Dean hadn't seen Castiel in two years. He'd started to forget what his ex of 5 years actually looked like; had been distressed to find he'd begun forgetting the little things; his smile, his voice, the feel of his soft cotton shirts curled in his fingers or the smell of his hair and the way it tickled his nose. All faded. All cracked at the seams. He rattled around in the apartment they once shared, seeing ghosts of their relationship in every mug, every chair. The walls sported dark rectangles and squares where pictures once hung, the desk breeding dust where once it groaned under the weight of paper stacks and photo frames. The coat rack in the hall now held every coat Dean owned to try and compensate for the loss. Even after two years, Dean still hadn't figured out how to cook for one, still hadn't grown accustomed to how little mess one person can make. He was still mourning, reeling from their disastrous break up; he couldn't look at the corner of their bedroom where Castiel had curled himself tight as a ball, built his fortresses and raised his drawbridge. As far as Dean was aware, Castiel was still in defensive stance two years on.

So, when he got an email from the guy, asking Dean to come and conduct an interview about their relationship for the magazine he worked for, Dean hesitated. Of course he did. The idea of seeing him again, reopening all of those precariously-healed wounds, was enough to keep him tossing and turning for three nights in a row. He couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. He flitted between 'yes' (Oh god, seeing him and not being able to kiss him, he knows _everything_ about me, no I can't) and 'no' (but I do really want to see him, I miss him… I _really_ miss him) so many times that in the end he left it up to a flip of the coin (best of 10) before finally agreeing.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how he ended up standing in the lobby of _Renegade Magazine_ , waiting patiently for Castiel to come and meet him. And when he finally arrived, wrapped in a dark blue fitted suit, blinding smile to match, Dean mentally kicked himself; how on earth had he forgotten what it was to be the reason for that wrinkled nose or the crow's feet teasing at the corners of corn-flower eyes?

"Dean," he sighs, throwing out his arms and looping them around Dean's shoulders.

"Hey Cas," Dean breathes, a little stunned at Castiel's openness.

"It's good to see you!" he says, holding Dean out at arms length, squeezing his shoulders a little before letting him go. "I'm so glad you agreed to this; my office is just up the way. Do you want a coffee before we start? It's actually alright here; not like that crap they had at _Uncommon_ ," he jokes, but Dean has a hard time laughing; he hadn't expected Castiel to be stone-cold exactly, but this level of friendliness was just as unanticipated. He clears his throat, realising suddenly that Castiel was expecting some sort of response from him,

"Uh, yeah. Coffee sounds good," he says, eyes focusing on the space just above Cas' bed-head hair.

"Black right? No sugar?" Castiel asks before turning away from Dean, because he already knows he's right.

"Yeah." Dean murmurs to Castiel's retreating back, stunned stock-still for a few heady seconds. It was like the last two years hadn't happened; like Dean was just visiting the love of his life at work, like the old days. He managed to catch up just in time to accept a steaming cup of coffee from Cas' hand. He inhales the earthy aroma and this time, the smile comes easily,

"Now, _that's_ what I call coffee."

"Right?" Cas' grin washes away the tension that was building in his shoulders, and Dean feels himself relax a little in kind, "Shall we walk?"

Dean follows Castiel through a warren of narrow corridors, lined with identical doors, his heart pounding double-time against the _clack_ of his shoes on the smooth marble floor.

"So, you know that this particular interview is going on our YouTube channel, I think I mentioned that in my email?" Castiel asks over his shoulder.

"Um," Dean had totally forgotten, "Yeah, yeah I'm sure you mentioned it."

"I'm sure we won't even notice the cameras once we get rolling, but I thought I should just check you're still cool with it? There's still time for this to be a paper interview for next month's issue if you've changed your mind."

"No, no, it's fine. I'm totally fine with it," Dean reassures, sounding a little insincere.

"You sure?" Castiel stops outside a door (presumably his office) and turns a questioning glance to Dean, who simply nods.

"Good," Cas smiles, opening the door to let Dean through.

Over the threshold lies a fairly sizeable office, the wall to the left taken up entirely by a floor to ceiling bookshelf, sporting a vast selection of books Dean's sure Castiel hasn't read. Straight ahead sits a large desk, complete with dark leather office chair and frankly ridiculous-sized Apple computer. To the left, a seating area, surrounded by cameras. Two high-backed chairs face a low-set dark wood coffee table, upon which sit a number of cards. Dean vaguely remembers Cas mentioning something about this interview being a two-way ordeal: Dean would get to ask as well as answer. The realization sends a thrill of something akin to apprehension chasing down his spine. A young man, probably an intern, is busying himself with a collection of lights and cameras.

"Dean, this is Alfie, he'll be our cameraman for the day," Castiel explains. Dean offers him a shy wave.

"Actually, Mr Novak, I think we're pretty much ready to go when you are," Alfie says, "If you guys wouldn't mind sitting in the chairs so I can get the framing and lighting right?"

Castiel turns his gaze to Dean, before motioning to one of the seats. Dean moves woodenly. He's only ever felt this nervous one other time in his life; funnily enough, that occasion had also involved Castiel but it was… a rather different setting, shall we say. A lot less fancy lighting. A lot fewer cameras.

"Dean," Cas' voice, soft and unsure, coaxes him out of that particular pit of despair, and Dean plasters on a friendly grin.

"Cas," he replies, taking another sip of his coffee.

"You… uh, you look good," Castiel remarks shyly, his gaze roaming over Dean's face, complete with unkempt stubble and hair at least a couple of inches longer than it was when Cas had last seen him. Dean feels the tips of his ears heat under the scrutiny, and he chuckles into the polystyrene cup, cursing under his breath when it betrays how nervous he feels. He allows his eyes to consider the man sat in front of him, the love of his life, the one he drove away. Cas' eyes are blue as ever (one of the only things Dean hadn't forgotten), his cheeks a little leaner than the last time Dean had seen him. His arms in that suit looked a little thicker though, his shoulders bore a certain sensuality in their breadth. Dean swallowed with a click.

"You too, Cas," he murmurs, trying to resist the droop in his eyelids or the languid heat crawling down his stomach and warming his hips. God, he just _knew_ this idea was a bad one; full of conflicting emotions, painful memories and crossed signals. He resolved to say nothing more, settling for wringing his hands in his lap and staring resolutely at the door. Cas seemed follow suit, albeit reluctantly. The two of them almost leapt out of their skins when Alfie finally broke the awkward silence with a cough.

"I think we're ready, Mr Novak," he offers hesitantly. Castiel nods; seemingly determined to alleviate the tension.

"You ready, Dean?" he asks, leaning forward and touching his fingertips to the seam of Dean's jean-clad calf. Dean finally finds the courage to look into those eyes once more; eyes he'd seen glow iridescent, crinkle in humour, well up in pain, hood over and darken with lust. He takes a deep breath and nods slowly.

* * *

Castiel looks up from the unassuming piece of white paper and grins bitterly,

"Why did you cheat on me so many times?" he asks, nonchalant, the hurt in his voice would have gone undetected if Dean hadn't known him for so long. Dean winces.

"I didn-… not _so many_ times, come on, it was what? Once?"

"Three times," Castiel corrects, sadly.

"As many as that?" Dean asks, incredulous. How was it that, after all this time, he had shouldered the unbearable weight of his guilt, yet he couldn't remember just how many counts he had to feel guilty about? "But, I mean… I never _slept_ with anyone else," he reasons, feeling a little immature, like a child pushing the blame onto an innocent younger sibling.

"You did other stuff though right?" Castiel frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I kissed-"

"Anything below the belt?" he interrupts, his voice suddenly clipped and sharp. _There's_ the anger Dean was expecting.

Dean no longer possesses the courage to raise his eyes, so settles for nodding dumbly at the coffee table between them. Castiel scoffs, throwing his hands into the air,

"God, I _knew_ it, that really fucking sucks" he says, his arms dropping bonelessly by his sides, the tears already welling in his eyes, "See? I'm still broken up over it, it happened two years ago and I _still_ can't-"

"For what it's worth, I was an ass, and I'm still sorry about it," Dean offers lamely, threading his fingers together in his lap and squeezing, as if to relieve some of the frustration he was feeling at himself.

"Yeah," Castiel nods, laughing through his tears, "Yeah, you really were an _ass_ , I mean, just the worst."

"Wow, Cas, say how you really feel," Dean chuckles, the easy banter they had once shared beginning to settle over him once more like a thick layer of snow, a welcome (if a little unprecedented) and comforting presence. In this moment, he could almost believe that they were back in their shitty little apartment, where nothing worked but them, and that was all that mattered. It was easy to get caught in the illusion, but he knew better than to fall into the trap. Cas had always been able to make him laugh; that didn't mean that he was off the hook, or that somehow they'd become friends again.

"You started it," Castiel counters, raising an eyebrow and wiping his eyes as a few tears escape, tumbling onto his forearm.

"Right, well. The question was why did I cheat? The answer… I… honestly, I don't really know," Dean shrugs, pulling roughly on his hair with his fists. He desperately wants to give Castiel the answer he deserves, but no matter how hard he searches, he can't find one. He considers his next words carefully before letting them tumble past his lips.

"There's like… no excusing what I did? There's no excuse that I can give you, Cas. What I did was wrong, and I knew it was wrong and it tore me up inside but… I did it anyway. And I don't think I'll ever know why. I didn't want to hurt you, but maybe… deep down, maybe I thought… we were fizzling? Or… that you deserved better? Maybe it was something selfish like that. And, I didn't have the courage to end it… so I acted up so it would fall to you," Dean shrugs, the answer feeling as true as he could manage. He had always felt like an unnecessary inconvenience, more trouble than he was worth; like the Beast to Castiel's Beauty.

"And, I guess part of me always felt guilty about your decision to center your life around me… I wanted better for you than what you chose, does that make sense?"

Castiel sniffs and nods, pressing a balled-up tissue to his eyes, his skin red and blotchy beneath.

"Yeah," he breathes shakily.

"You were… meant for better things, you know? You had so much talent and you just… threw it all away for an asshat like me," Dean recalled, his voice wavering, "I know that answer's probably not good enough, but it's the best I got."

They both sit in a wholly uncomfortable silence for a moment or two, before Castiel sighs heavily.

"I'm glad you can finally own up to it, Dean," he says, a sad smile ghosting his lips, "it means a lot to me that you did that."

* * *

Dean picks up the next card with understandable trepidation, and lets out a huff of relief when he reads,

"When you think about the first time we met, what do you remember?"

Castiel throws his hands wide, obviously just as glad as Dean is to get out of the sourness that the first question had caused.

"Ha!" he cries happily, "The park, with the-"

"The ice and the, yup-"

"You know what I'm talking about?" Castiel grins, and Dean nods enthusiastically, the memory spreading through his mind like a blot of paint dropped to wet paper.

"Of course! Me and Sam were walking Bones in the park, and that stupid mutt slipped out of his collar and knocked you flat on your back," Dean recounts, cheeks aching with the smile etched across his face. The ache sends a feeling of relief reaching right to the ends of his fingers and toes. He didn't _want_ to be sad and cut-up about this anymore; the chance to relive the good times was a completely welcome one. Castiel's words are huffed out in between bouts of laughter,

"You came to help me up and ended up slipping over too-"

"Sam was so pissed that he had to drive us to the Emergency Room,"

"Hey, I fractured my coccyx!" Castiel protested, crossing his arms in an exaggerated sulk.

"I stayed didn't I?" Dean offers, his eyebrows raised.

"And helped me home, yeah," Castiel relents begrudgingly with a smirk. Dean remembers that first meeting so clearly, how their breath puffed in huge white clouds against the frozen winter air, how their giddy laughter rebounded against the icy asphalt, resounded amongst the naked branches of the trees. Castiel had perched ever so delicately on the edge of his plastic chair at the hospital, telling Dean and his brother to go home approximately once every 2 minutes. Sam gave in eventually, but Dean saw it through and walked him home, made sure he was comfortable.

"And convinced you to give me your number," Dean winks. Castiel groans, rolling his eyes indulgently.

"You want to know what I think about?" Dean adds after a beat or two, a memory wiggling its way to the fore of his mind with alarming clarity.

"No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway," Cas smirks.

"Damn straight: Charlie's New Year's party," Dean grins, slapping the coffee table for emphasis.

"Oh my god, no," Cas whines, covering his face with his hands.

"Yup! And we both turned up and it was super weird because we didn't know she was a mutual friend and then-"

"I don't think we need to discuss this-" Castiel protests, his voice muffled by his palms.

"Then we played those classic high school party games, and you gave me seven _beautiful_ minutes in heaven," Dean teased, his tone light despite the pang of nostalgia pulling sharply at his chest. If he closed his eyes and concentrated real hard, he could remember vividly the distinct smell of mothballs, the feeling of heavy coats and dresses pressing closely around him, Castiel's body pressing closer still, those soft lips that he once knew as well as his own touching to his, tentative and shy. Most of all, he remembered the warmth of Castiel's hands as they cupped his face, and the sin-slick feeling of his tongue.

"That was our first kiss wasn't it?" Castiel observes, peeking between his fingers, before dragging his hands heavily down his face.

"Yup," Dean nods, the grin slowly falling from his face.

"You old sap, you," Castiel huffs, amused, leaning forward to pat Dean's knee. The corners of Dean's lips suddenly feel to heavy to lift. _All ruined. All my fault._

* * *

"What do you cherish about our time together as a couple?" Cas asks, his elbows perched on his knees, his fingers forming a steeple against his lips.

"Hmm," Dean considers for a moment, "You just… I don't know, you brought out the best in me, you know? You made me brave,"

"Dean-" Castiel warns, his lower lip already shaking against another onslaught of tears that threatened, pushed against the weakening dam.

"And I really cherish the memories of those routines we ended up getting into; like Friday Date Night, and Take-out Tuesday, and me making the coffee in the morning because I was always up first, or the cuddle-position we always ended up in on the sofa-"

"I still have a take-out on most Tuesdays," Castiel admits, rubbing his eyes gruffly with the back of his hand.

"Same," Dean smiles, "I guess I can cherish the fact that if I hadn't been with you I would never know the sheer, unadulterated magic that is Singapore chow mein."

"You're most certainly welcome," Castiel's lips falter as he tries a smile of his own.

"What about you?" Dean asks, knowing that this is a little 'against the rules' but he's genuinely interested. Castiel takes a long, shuddering breath through his nose, letting it out in a loud puff that tickles the tip of Dean's nose.

"I guess… I cherish, and miss, the way we just ended up… existing around one another, you know. We became such a team, and I think… if it weren't for you, if it weren't for our relationship I wouldn't know what that feels like."

 _Well, fuck_ , thinks Dean, eloquent as ever.

* * *

"What's your fondest memory from our time together?" Dean reads, placing the card back on the table before leaning back in his chair.

"I know the exact one. I think about this day a lot," Castiel says to his lap, his shoulders heaving with calming breaths. His face wears a cautious smile when he continues, "We were going through some… really tough times. And you came to the office and whisked me out… You… constructed this lie that I had a really important doctors appointment and I had to pretend like I'd forgotten, you remember? Everyone brought me flowers the next day at work because of that," Castiel laughs, his face scrunching in that familiar way; Dean used to know what those crinkles felt like beneath his lips.

"And you… you drove me all the way to this little art exhibition across town because you knew it was Turner-"

"And Turner was your favourite," Dean reasoned, remembering this day just as well now. He remembered how they'd gone through a solid week of snapping and yelling at one another; Castiel was stressed because his workload was increasing, Dean was being a petulant child thanks to the sudden lack of attention it had caused. He regretted that week, but Sam had convinced him to swallow his pride: to stand _beside_ Cas, rather than in front of him.

"And yeah. You went round this huge gallery with me, even though you hate art and thought it was pretentious as shit," Castiel chuckles, a fond smile settling over his lips.

"I guess that was pretty romantic," Dean quips.

"I thought, then, that it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me… I still think that actually… you were so spontaneous and… affectionate that day." Dean feels his cheeks heat ever so slightly at the memory of that evening.

"Didn't we go back home after and…" Dean makes a vague gesture with his hands, suddenly feeling awkward.

"Do the do?" Castiel offers, his smile widening to another striking grin.

Dean had forgotten all about Castiel's little habit of calling sex anything but 'sex'; it shocks a hearty laugh out of him.

"Yeah, Cas, we _did the do._ We hadn't in weeks, and it was pretty awesome, as I remember it."

"We always were pretty spectacular in that department," Castiel agrees, the tips of his ears colouring slightly. Dean nods, smiling as his brain inundates him with images of all the other _do_ s he and Castiel _did._

* * *

"If you could change one thing about our relationship, what would it be and why?" Cas sighs, running his fingers along the edges of the card this time, considering it with a deep frown pulling at the edges of his mouth.

Dean pauses for an inordinate amount of time, not on purpose of course, but because he's desperately trying to think of something to change.

"Cas… I don't think I'd change anything. Like, obviously, I would change how much I hurt you but… even that I think you've grown from and learnt from. I don't think I'd take that away from you, no matter how much it hurts me… I don't know," Dean adds in a panic, a sudden wave of grief threatening to blossom into a mess of thorns around his heart.

"How mature of you, Mr Winchester," Castiel mumbles, his lips now curled in a shy smile. Dean grins through the pain, resumes his usual act: Dean Winchester, The Fool.

"A-thank you very much," he jokes, continuing the act by bowing deep in his chair, despite the fact neither he nor Castiel are laughing.

* * *

"What would you warn my next boyfriend about me?" comes the next question after another moment or two of silence; both men seemingly collecting themselves, gathering those parts of themselves that had begun reaching across the table to one another, restraining the memories, holding back the urges to touch and soothe.

"How fussy you are about coffee beans?" Dean keeps his voice casual, but he never had been able to stomach Castiel's favourite brand since they broke up; it didn't taste the same when he wasn't tasting it on Castiel's tongue.

"I'd say that's totally fair," his ex asserts, some of the sadness in his eyes safely tucked away and replaced with a thin veil of easy friendliness.

"Or that you're really not a morning person. Or that you're the sassiest drunk to ever walk this Earth," Dean continues, something close to happiness rising through his chest once more, and _man_ was this emotional rollercoaster exhausting.

"Alright, alright, anything you'd actually _warn_ him about?" Cas indulges in a full-fledged eye roll, usually reserved for when Dean forgot to do the dishes or put the bins out.

"What like… no, man. You are who you are, you know? There's nothing to warn him about; if he can't handle you that's his problem," Dean answers, confidently.

"You think you handled me?" Castiel raises his eyebrows in a challenge.

"Well enough," Dean grins, in a way that dares Castiel to disagree with him.

Castiel nods slowly, his eyes roaming over Dean's face with a fondness Dean forgot that he'd missed.

"What about you?" Cas hadn't minded the question being turned on him last time, and some part of Dean is morbidly curious to hear his flaws voiced out loud by someone other than himself.

"You're an abysmal sleeping partner," Castiel says wearily, as if he's recovering from a night of sharing a bed with Dean this very day.

"What?" Dean snorts, surprised. He thought it might be something along the lines of emotional constipation, stubborn as shit, prone to sudden bouts of crisis, fear of commitment…

"You snore, you hog the duvet, you sweat profusely, you're clingy and you spread like mad," Castiel insists, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow in defiance.

"Good to know," Dean chuckles, glad to see this side of Castiel appearing once more; the slightly rebellious side of him, the side that flips the bird, that gives as good as he gets.

* * *

"Who is at fault for the relationship ending?" Dean's lungs suddenly feel two sizes too small, and he can't help but answer the question himself, "Me," he submits, not missing a beat, "Absolutely me."

"Really?" Castiel sounds genuinely taken-aback, and that momentarily stuns Dean before he's able to shake himself out of it,

"You're surprised? I made the most mistakes, I hurt you, and lied and cheated and… yeah, it's a no-brainer, Cas, this was on me."

But Castiel is shaking his head, his solemn eyes cast down to his hands, folded in his lap.

"Dean, you mustn't shoulder all of the blame-"

"I should-"

"No, Dean, it takes two. I wasn't exactly an angel during our relationship either, I made mistakes, I hurt you right back," Castiel asserts, his face suddenly deadly serious.

"Cas-"

"I'm sorry, Dean. I don't think I ever said it back then, but I'm sorry now. I'm sorry for pushing you away, and I'm sorry for never trusting you-"

"I gave you good reason not to trust me, Cas, don't say that. My cheating on you was in no way your fault," Dean says, incredulous for the hundredth time today. How on earth could Castiel seriously consider himself to blame for Dean's bone-headed actions?

"I was difficult then, Dean, you have to let me take some of the responsibility."

"Eh, you were stubborn. Infuriatingly so a lot of the time. Never backed down, never apologised unless I forced you. There, is that enough?"

Castiel's smile widens even as his eyes grow sad.

"Thank you, Dean."

* * *

"Why haven't you been in a relationship since we broke up?" The question takes Dean a little by surprise, and he feels his face crumple into a frown. He exhales slowly, running a hand across his forehead and into his hair. Every question has made him uncomfortable, made him squirm, made him want to run away. He doesn't run though, he sits and he gives Castiel the truth because he's not the same Dean that Cas once loved. And he's promised himself he'll never be that person again.

"Wow, these questions just don't let up, do they?" he jokes. Castiel's laugh is nothing but a huff of air. When it's clear he isn't going to give him any semblance of a response, Dean closes his eyes, tapping his fingers listlessly against his knee while he searches for another answer.

"I think…" he starts tentatively, "I was just so… _in_ with you, you know? We had an apartment together. I was gonna _marry_ you. Despite my mistakes, man, there was some part of me that always wanted you. I ruined a good thing, here, Cas, and I know you're still hurting," he motions to his ex, once again pressing a tissue to his eyes and sniffing brokenly, "And… I don't want to do that to someone else. Not until I know how to _not…_ do it."

"We really loved each other, didn't we?" Castiel admits, voice barely above a whisper and shaking a little under the weight of his grief. _All my fault._

"Yeah, yeah we did."

"I miss that apartment," Castiel reflects sadly, screwing up the tissue in his hand.

"It's… a little different without you there," Dean confesses to Cas' shoes.

"I should think so," Castiel says, finally lifting his eyes to Dean's again, deep blue irises swimming with unshed tears. The sight of that alone is enough to steal the breath from Dean's lungs. Just how many of Castiel's tears had been Dean's fault?

"You know," he mumbles, his voice just about managing to squeeze past the concrete blockage in his throat, "that was the worst day of all for me; collecting all your stuff into boxes and just," tears wet the corners of his eyes, run freely down his cheeks when he tries to blink them away, "watching you leave with them. Packing up your pictures and having to… buy new ones from IKEA to replace them. It's never been the same."

Castiel reaches over the table and holds his hand open to Dean, who takes it and squeezes hard enough to feel the delicate bones grind together.

* * *

"Would you ever think about getting back together?" Dean stammers into the hand rubbing across his chin, after placing the card back on the table.

"Would I ever thi- God, I don't know," Castiel muses, "I really haven't thought about it. I miss you, obviously, I always will, but… it wouldn't ever be what it was. Trying to cram ourselves back into that space that was ours, that space we'd carved just for us… I don't think we'd fit in it anymore. At least, not in the same way we did. We're different people now, I'm not sure we'd even work together anymore," he says, his voice laced with sadness.

"Yeah it's- I've thought about it," Dean sighs, thinking of all the times he'd laid awake in the vast aridness of their old bed, wishing with everything he had to be able to just _undo_ what he'd done. To have Cas back by his side, curled up under the covers with him, fingers reaching towards one another even when unconscious. Dean had warred against himself, wondering if there was anything, any possible way he could get this perfect man, this good, honest man, to forgive him. But, he always came to the same conclusion: it would be unfair to expect Castiel to even _try_ and forgive him, when Dean knew full well that, if the tables were turned, he wouldn't.

"And?" Castiel prods hesitantly.

"I can't change the past, no matter how hard I wish that I could… just go back and not be the stupid child I was. I don't regret our relationship, it's still… the best thing that's ever happened to me, but… it's happened, you know? We can't force it to be more than it was. Plus, I'm really enjoying having that bed all to myself? I ain't sharing it for no-one," he rushes to cover the sudden seriousness, this constant bearing of his vulnerable heart.

"Charming as ever," Castiel teases, fiddling with the damp tissue in his hands. "We had a good run, though, right?" he prompts, his eyes hopeful and crinkled with his sincerity.

"The best," Dean agrees, another genuine smile tugging at his lips.

* * *

Castiel trudges up the stairs to his apartment, his feet heavy with unspoken words. He couldn't help but wonder why, as soon as his boss mentioned a Valentine's Day issue, his mind had practically _blossomed_ with thoughts of Dean. A man he'd avoided talking to for the last two years, no matter how much he wanted to. He found it so bizarre, even now, how someone who was so important to him, literally his whole world one day, could be absolutely nothing to him the next. He'd missed Dean. Days would go by without Castiel sparing a single thought to him, but there were these _moments_ ; hearing someone order Dean's favourite sandwich (Italian sub with extra jalapeños), the smell of worn leather or fried onions, accidentally walking down the road where he _used_ to live on his way home from work. They'd spring themselves upon him with no prior warning, sinking their teeth into his flesh, as the weight of all that he'd _lost_ threatened to bury him alive.

He knew inviting Dean for the interview was a bad idea. He'd known it as soon as he thought it, but he couldn't dislodge the idea from his mind, not until he'd given it a shot. He'd expected Dean to say no, but… there he was, agreeing. There he was, shedding tears, sharing memories, laughing with him, admitting things he'd never even _hinted_ at during their time together. It really was the worst idea he'd ever had.

Castiel leant against the door to his apartment, sinking to the floor, along with the pictures he didn't have the energy to hang up. There are still a couple of boxes lying around, even after all this time. He simply can't bring himself to _move in_ to this place. It's too painful to remember how well everything fitted in his old apartment. The one he shared with Dean. He sighs heavily, fiddling about in his pocket for his phone. He flips it open, staring at the screen and closing it again, clutching it to his chest.

He wants to text Dean. It goes against everything he stands for when it comes to exes. He never gives more chances than a person deserves… but… maybe Dean deserves one more? God, he wants to text him. To just reach out to him one more time.

He opens up a new message, and exhales, letting his fingers roam about the keys without too much thought. He hopes to god Dean hasn't changed his number.

As soon as he's sent it, he instantly wants to throw his phone at the wall, but what appears on his screen stops him, makes him laugh out loud, the sound momentarily lighting the darkness of his empty apartment:

 **You (sent at 19:27): Hey Dean, I hope this is still your number… it's Cas. I was wondering if you were free this weekend, maybe you'd like to grab a drink? I don't know… just a thought. It was good to see you today, thank you again.**

 **Dean (sent at 19:27): hey, cas is this ur No? its dean… r u free this wknd? fancy a drink?**


End file.
